


Work Boots

by napandasandwich



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Creature Hannibal, M/M, Noncon tag because of the basic nature of Hannibal's relationship with Will, Post-Fall, Submission, Throat Fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:25:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5092424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/napandasandwich/pseuds/napandasandwich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will doesn't lie to himself, or he tries not to. He knows what the Creature is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work Boots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Froggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froggie/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Work Boots (2015)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/152294) by filthyamphibian.tumblr.com. 



> Update as of October 2017:
> 
> I've removed every instance of the word 'Wendigo' from this fic and replaced it with creature. It was fucked up for me to use a term that belongs to a living culture incorrectly in my writing and I apologize for doing so. 
> 
> Now that I've learned better, I've altered the work and am leaving this note in place to let others know that Wendigo is a not a term we fans and fanfic authors should be using. The word doesn't mean what the show uses it for, and we can and should do better, it's that simple.
> 
> *****
> 
> Written for filthyamphibian/Froggie in gratitude for drawing an amazing piece of art based partly on a prompt I submitted on anon. Thank you so much! Please take the link above to view the (very NSFW) Creature/Will that I based this fic on with your very own eyes. Without it I wouldn't ever have written for this fandom.
> 
> Set after the end of Season 3.

 

 

 

 

At first Hannibal takes care of him, because he can't take care of himself. Hannibal is injured too, still limping and spending almost as much time resting as Will does.

But the hunting cabin is quiet. No one comes looking for them. The weather hasn't turned yet, and the days are clear and cool.

Will doesn't keep track of them. If he does, he'll start to worry about his dogs.

It takes them a long time to recover from the fall.

 

* * *

 

He wakes and it's afternoon. He's been feeling better, so he takes himself on a walk to the window.

The trees around the cabin are only broken by game trails, and he can hear the occasional bird singing. It's beautiful here. He used to daydream about finally disappearing out into the woods, although never quite under these circumstances. For example, in his imaginings he always thought that, if he wanted to, he would be able to go back.

He has no memory of how they got here. He remembers Hannibal, before and after, and something of the sea, and that's all. Then he woke up in the cabin with Hannibal at his side.

There's a rustle in the trees outside and a tall figure breaks through the leaves.

It shakes its horns like the stag he sometimes sees instead. Perhaps seven feet tall and shining black in the sun, he sees it scent the air for a moment, as if thinking, and then turn to walk towards the cabin door. In a moment the dark shape passes out of sight.

Will sometimes wonders if there's a reason he sees it in the daylight now. Occasionally it's at his bedside when he startles from the nightmares, watching him intently, and sometimes he wakes to see it sleeping beside him. Sometimes, like today, it comes back after hours in the woods, bringing new supplies and a good mood with it.

The cabin door opens and Hannibal smiles, very pleased to see him out of bed.

 

* * *

 

The good mood the Creature brought home keeps them both up that night.

 

* * *

 

When Will wakes in the morning, there's a pile of clothes on a chair by the bed. They aren't quite his size, but they're clean. With the belt on top of a pair of work boots under the chair, he can put a full set of clothes on for the first time in however long its been.

There's a little bit of blood staining the belt, but it's dry. He rubs it with his thumb for a minute, thinking about things that are very far away.

He gets dressed.

 

* * *

 

Hannibal comes back that evening with a few hiking backpacks. He smiles when he sees Will dressed, but doesn't say anything about it.

Will takes trail mix and jerky from the packs without comment and spreads everything else out on the floor. Together they pick out spare batteries and wool socks, a water purifying kit, anything useful. They go through everything and bag up what they won't keep, and by the time that's done Will is tired again.

When he lies down on the bed, Hannibal comes to sit next to him. Will speaks with his eyes closed.

“There was blood on the belt.”

There's a few seconds of silence, then, mildly, “Oh?”

Will feels like laughing for some reason, but he's too tired. “Very messy doctor.”

Hannibal laughs.

“I will try to be tidier next time.” Will feels dry lips brush across his forehead. “Get some rest.”

He sinks down into sleep.

 

* * *

 

That night he wakes with a start but no memory of what he was dreaming, and the creature is beside him in bed.

Will watches it for a while. He knows that the Creature is a hallucination, courtesy of his spastic cortical function and traumatized imagination. Knowing his own mind, it's probably a metaphor too. Not a very hard one to figure out, unfortunately.

Still, some parts of his experiences are hard to explain, even for him. Shifting a little to balance, he reaches out a hand.

The horns are hard and smooth, and warm, and the creature stirs a little when he touches them. He pulls back his hand and sees the black eyes open.

Will settles back down on the bed, and turns his head on the pillow to look at it.

He keeps his voice hushed. It seems right, in the quiet of the dark.

“Thanks for the clothes.”

A big hand, hot, dry and slightly rough on his skin, comes up to brush the curls from his forehead. Distinctly, he feels the long claws card through his hair, lightly scratching across his scalp, and he shivers.

He doesn't remember falling back to sleep, and in the morning Hannibal is beside him again.

 

* * *

 

When he's feeling better still, he puts the boots on and goes outside.

The air is fresh and he breaths in for what seems like forever, just feeling the sun and the wind on his face. He can hear the birds better out here, and the sighing of the trees. There's running water not too far away. He can't hear so much as a whisper of a distant highway, and there are no aircraft trails in the early autumn sky.

He stays out until it gets dark enough that the stars start to show.

Hannibal doesn't come to get him, but he's ready to open the door when Will comes back.

 

* * *

 

It's a few weeks later.

Will has mostly recovered, and started to do work around the cabin instead of just sleep through the day. He hauls water from the creek and splits wood for their infrequent, careful fires. He buries their trash in pit he digs a little ways away from the cabin. When there's more in the pit in the morning than he put in it the day before, he doesn't say anything, just shifts the dirt over it and lets his mind go somewhere else.

Hannibal slips off into the woods more and more often now. Will never asks where he's going, only when he'll be back.

 

* * *

 

The weather is getting cooler, but the afternoon is warmer than it has been, so Will strips down to his boots in the warm air and gets ready to have a wash.

As he watches the wash water heat on the little gas camping stove, he reflects that in some ways, living like this has helped him feel more grounded than he can ever remember. The water starts to boil, and he carries it out to the stump by the porch, setting by the pot of cold water he'll use to mix the right temperature for a shave.

Mixing the soap into a lather and then setting the blade to his skin, Will lets himself sink into the moment. The sun on his back. The sound of the wind in the trees, and louder, the scrape of the razor on his skin. The easy glide of the knife, recently sharped. In the tiny camping mirror, the progress of pink skin from under the froth and bits of stubble.

He's grateful the mirror they have is so small, that he can only see a small part of his face at a time. He doesn't really want to have to look himself in the eye, and this way it's easy enough to avoid.

He washes the lather off, checks for missed spots, then moves on to washing the rest of himself down, one part at a time. It's a longer process, doing it the old-fashioned way, but it's satisfying. The work is worth it to be clean, and he's not still injured enough to willingly let Hannibal wash him.

The sun is still warm when he's done, so he stretches out a blanket on the grass, and stretches himself on top of it to dry. He reads a paperback novel from the cabin to keep from drifting off, always alert to go back inside at the sound of aircraft overhead, but everything is quiet. 

Everything is fine.

 

* * *

 

He's four chapters in to the book, a crime novel that isn't very good, when he hears a branch snap off to his left.

Will freezes, listening, waiting for it to move again. After a moment it does, and the crackling of smaller branches suggests human rather than animal. Will reaches for one of the guns Hannibal's brought back that he had tucked under the edge of the blanket. He clicks off the safety as quietly as he can.

With another round of snapping twigs, it breaks free of the trees, shaking its horns again before noticing Will naked on the ground.

Slowly, it looks him up and down. Just as slowly, it begins to walk towards him.

Will flicks the safety back on and takes his hand off the gun. Not bothering to mark his page, he puts the book down. Otherwise he makes no move.

The shadow falls on him.

The horns stretch wide against the sky, and after a moment it reaches out a hand to him. He takes it, goes to rise, and instead finds himself in a grip that pulls him up to his knees and keeps him there. Holding his head still, it traces his lips, then presses a thumb slowly onto his tongue.

Distantly, Will hates that he's already getting hard, just from being handled like this. But he's not the only one. This probably won't last long for either of them.

Slowly, gripping him tightly the entire time, the finger moves in and out of his mouth. It brushes against the points of his teeth, then rubs against his tongue, spreading saliva across his lips.

It hasn't taken his glasses off, so he looks up and sees something like a smile. Almost gently, the Creature tips his head back, stroking his throat with its wet thumb. Claws from the other hand slip between his teeth, opening his mouth wide.

Will closes his eyes, waiting. There's a moment where he becomes aware of the sound of the trees again, of the sun, getting lower now, but still warm in the sky.

A brush against the tip of his tongue and he opens his mouth wider.

Gripping his hair tighter, the Creature pushes its hips forward, filling Will's mouth slowly. He breathes around it, letting it happen. He breathes and breathes until he chokes, and when he does he chokes again immediately as the cock down his throat is pushed farther, the hands gripping his head shifting him to get a better angle.

It pulls back for a moment, enough to let him get some breath, and then he feels a hand leave his hair. Before he can wonder, the Creature bends, takes both of his hands behind his back in one big one and holds them there. It strokes his hair, tender except for the claws, and then presses his head forward again.

Will, pinned and surrounded, relaxes. This, being held in place and guided, opening his mouth, breathing when he's allowed, this is easy. The silence of the passing days, the waiting, the not-thinking, that's hard. But he can close his eyes and let this happen. He can do this.

Its hips hunch forward and Will's jaw is aching. With his hands pinned behind him, there's nothing he can do to stop the Creature from using his mouth how it wants. Will's world narrows to the press and pull of the cock in his mouth, to breathing at the right moment, to the ache in his body that wants even more.

He would be lying to himself if he tried to say he didn't enjoy this.

Now that the last reasons for pretense were gone ( _“Drowned in the sea,”_ Hannibal had said the first time) he and Hannibal had begun to get to know those sides of each other. In bed as in life, Hannibal was brutal when it suited him, and tender when he wanted to be. But he was above all a conscientious lover, and Will could quietly admit to himself that he was more satisfied in that capacity than he had ever been before.

Who he might compare the experience to was, of course, another thing Will didn't think about.

But the Creature is different. It took what it wanted, and used Will to get it. There was no expectation besides that Will would follow its wordless, obvious directions until it was done with him.

He chokes again, feeling himself drool, and intentionally swallows hard. It backs off, letting him breath again, then pushes back in until it's deep in his throat. He swallows again, feeling the hand still in his hair pulling his neck back further, his throat open wider, and suddenly he knows what it wants. _Oh god_.

Sure enough, the Creature grips him tighter, settles its hips, and starts to press forward.

Will doesn't know if he can take it all, not in his mouth. He hasn't tried before. He breathes in while he can, and lets his whole body go slack. The Creature holds him in place.

It tilts his head a little more, and finally goes deep enough that Will can't breath at all. He moves his tongue, working it against the bottom, trying to give the muscles in his jaw some relief.

Deeper, down into his throat, and Will is starting to feel a touch of panic even as he fights to swallow, to keep his body open and still. Deeper down, and his throat starts to flutter, right on the edge of reflexively fighting for breath.

Deeper. He feels his nose brush smooth skin, the tickle of crisp hair. And yet the Creature is still pushing.

Will's eyes fly open as it gives a little thrust, finally entirely inside of his mouth. He feels his eyes roll back, saliva leaking down his chin. His awareness narrows to the pulse pounding through his aching body and the points of contact holding him still. Intimately, he feels it shiver, and the grip on his wrists tightens.

There's a rush, and the thickness in his mouth withdraws, leaving him gasping. He coughs twice, almost heaving with relief, and tries to blink tears from his watering eyes.

And then the grip is holding him tight again, and the cock presses into his mouth. He almost begins to struggle now, but it doesn't go deep enough to take his breath away. Setting a pace with its hips, the Creature holds his head in place while it uses his mouth.

Will closes his eyes again and adds suction to the movement, rewarded when the pace falters for a moment before picking back up, fast and shallow.

Soon, Will tastes the flash of bitterness that gives him enough warning to start to swallow, and then the Creature is grunting and hunching over him, pulling out far enough for him to take it all without spilling.

The taste in his mouth is Hannibal's. Will doesn't lie to himself, or he tries not to. He knows what the Creature is.

When it's finished, it lets him go, and Will drops to the blanket.

His feet have gone to sleep, and the sun is starting to set, but the dark shape with its antlers is still standing over him. He stays still.

It smells the air, once, twice, and then walks off back into the woods.

Reaching up a hand, Will touches his jaw, feeling the soreness there. Then he looks down at the part of his body that is still, somehow, demanding attention. He sighs, and reaches down.

With the ache still fresh, he hardly lasts a minute, thinking about claws on his skin.

The sun is sinking below the trees by the time he gets back inside. Taking the paperback and a lamp to the table, Will lights the lamp.

He sits down to wait.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Recommended listening is 'Like a Mirror' by Morphine on repeat.


End file.
